Lay Over
by estrafalaria103
Summary: What if the plane had been successfully rerouted to Fiji? How would our characters have met up? How would their lives have interacted?
1. Chapter 1

The plane gave another sudden jerk and several people screamed. Even Kate had to bite back a surprised cry. That jolt had gotten to her, but mostly she was just bored. Turbulence was just that, and she'd been on enough difficult flights to get used to it. Too bad the other passengers weren't dealing as well. A blonde woman was screaming, while her boyfriend tried desperately to silence her. Some fat guy was sweating to drown the plane, and a pregnant woman was breathing in short, hysterical bursts. An older black woman was leaning as far back into her seat as possible, the whites of her eyes standing in marked contrast to the darkness of her skin.

Next to the woman sat a handsome man in a dark suit. He was whispering soothingly to the woman. Kate smiled a bit at that. It was nice to see a little goodness in the world. The man looked up and smiled at her. Kate quickly looked away, and fiddled with her handcuffs, hidden under the Marshal's coat. Had he seen? Did he know her secret? She felt as though a mark stood on her forehead for all to see.

The plane lurched again, and this time Kate did gasp. A crackling came from the plane's intercom, followed by the sound of the pilot's voice.

"Folks, don't worry, we've just entered a bit of turbulence. It should be over in just a few minutes. However, the plane has sustained some damage to our fuel tanks. We'll be redirecting this flight to Fiji, to insure a safe landing and to refuel. Thank you for your patience during this difficulty."

"Patience my ass," a hoarse voice muttered from somewhere behind Kate. She twisted to try and find the source of the voice, but couldn't tell who had spoken in the mass of faces. "I wasn't given no fucking choice here."

"Hey, man," a middle-aged man said, glancing at the young boy beside him. "What your language."

"Love to," the voice sneered. "Soon as Amelia Earhart up there learns to fly a plane."

"Dude," the sweat-drenched fat man said. "It could be worse."

"Amelia was a woman, ponce," a fidgety young man muttered. Kate stifled a giggle. She felt the man next to her move, and she twisted to look into the Marshal's eyes.

"Having fun, Katie?" he asked, a grin on his face. Kate stared at him in disbelief as the plane abruptly dropped a few feet. The Marshal's grin widened. He was actually enjoying this!

"Please buckle your seatbelts," the pilot said again. "We'll be arriving in Fiji in ten minutes."


	2. Jack

Jack was more than a little worried when he stepped off the plane. The funeral was set for a certain time. He wasn't quite sure what would happen at two pm Monday if there wasn't a body Then again, he'd always believed it was better to be safe than sorry, and he couldn't fault the pilot for his decision.

"Oh no!" a female voice gasped just as a suitcase him in the head. "I'm so sorry!" Jack turned to face a young blonde woman, looking very chagrined. "it's just so clumsy,"

Jack smiled, reached out, and grabbed her bag from her. He almost lost his smile when he saw her belly, but through force of will held onto it. What kind of idiot doctor did she have, that had allowed her to fly in her third trimester? "How far along are you?" he asked.

"Hm?" she blinked and then laughed briefly. "oh, the baby! Eight months. Almost done, thank God."

"Sorry, sorry, coming through."

Jack looked back down the tunnel The fidgety looking young man was pushing his way through, trying not to jostle anyone, and failing for the most part. When he drew up next to Jack and the young woman, he knocked her carryon out of Jack's hands.

"Sorry all elbows," he apologized with a quick grin, picking it up and handing it to the woman before rushing off.

"Guess somebody really needs to use the restrooms," the woman laughed.

Jack smiled a bit at that. "Come on let's find you somewhere to sit down."


	3. Shannon

"Let go of me, Boone," Shannon pulled out of the grip of her brother and stomped over to a seat. She promptly dropped into it not at all gracefully. Whatever. It wasn't as though she cared what any of _these_ people thought of her.

But at the same time. . .she glanced out the corner of her eye, trying to see if anybody had seen her. Nobody gave her a second look. Good.

"Shannon, just use the inhaler," Boone said with that hopeless tone he often used with her, as though he were talking to a recalcitrant child.

She refused. Sure, it was kind of hard to breathe, but whatever. She wasn't going to do something just because Boone, fucking perfect Boone told her to. The world began to get gray, so she put her head down between her legs. In the nose out the mouth, in the nose, out the mouth.

"Is everything alright here?" An accented male voice asked. Shannon felt Boone's heavy hand on her back, rubbing in what she was sure Boone thought was a soothing rhythm In reality, she wanted to retch.

"My sister has asthma," Boone said. As if that was some kind of explanation. "She'll be fine, she has an inhaler."

"I don't need a fucking inhaler," Shannon said. Between her own mumbling and the fact that her head was between her legs, the words came out as a confused jumble. The two men standing over her leaned down to better understand her.

"Pardon me?" the man said.

"I said," drawing in a difficult and wavering breath, Shannon pulled her head up, "I don't. . ."

"You," the dark-skinned man said. Shannon's' eyes widened and she reached her hand out to her brother.

"I think I'll take that inhaler now."


	4. Charlie

"Charlie closed his eyes and sighed, relishing the relief of his fix. He'd been itching to get up on the plane, and had only been waiting for the turbulence to calm. But then the bloody flight attendants had started watching him sweat and squirm. . .

He left the bathroom feeling a bit more like himself, and even began to whistle a bit as he headed back to his gate. He was met by a scene of chaos, with kids screaming, men yelling, and everybody scrambling to find a seat. Bugger, Charlie thought, I was better off in the loo.

On the outskirts of the madness sat two men, a curly-headed brunette between them. There was one empty seat next to the younger of the men. Charlie sat beside him, noticing that he was sleeping, his mouth slightly agape. He smiled at the woman.

"Hello," he said.

She looked at him sadly and said "hi."

"American?" he asked, bassed off of her accent. She nodded. The man sitting between them grunted in his sleep. Charlie ignored him. "Hey, that's great! I was just on my way to America. Well, yeah, I guess you knew that, we're all on teh same plane anyway, right? I'm meeting up with my band in Los Angelos. Driveshaft. That's my band. Ever heard of us?"

"Hey, Alvin, why don't ya shut up?" the sleeping man growled. He opened one eye, looked briefly at Charlie, and then allowed his gaze to wander to the woman on his left. He smiled a bit, showing a flash of dimples. Must charm all of the ladies, Charlie thought, and instantly decided he hated the other man. "I doubt the lady much cares what you're talking about. Ain't I right, Freckles?"

The woman stared at the man as though she couldn't believe he had just said that. Charlie chuckled a little uncomfortably before standing up.

"Well, I think I'm going to. . .to go see if I can find out what's happening. Nice meeting you, name's Charlie by the way." The woman stared at his offered hand a moment, but didn't respond. Finally she smiled at Charlie, still looking a bit sad.

"Kate," she said.

Charlie bobbed his head a bit before walking off. She'd been beautiful, but that ponce. . .he shook his head again.

"Hey there you okay?" a voice interrupted his anger. He turned to see an angel. A pregnant angel, he realized in a moment, seeing the way her shirt strained over her belly. She laughed. "We saw you practically running off the plane."

We? He then noticed the man standing next to her. Well, that explained the baby, anyway. He abruptly remembered the question he'd been asked, and managed another offhand laugh. He was rather proud of himself for mastering these. "Yeah, well, you know what they say."

"Not really, what do they say?" the man asked. He seemed genuinely curious. Charlie frowned and scratched his head.

"Oh. Well. I don't know. I thought maybe you might." The angel laughed delightedly, and Charlie relaxed. At least one person stuck here with me didn't have a stick up her arse.

"That's charming!" she said, and clapped her arms a bit. Charlie melted.

"Well, you know, that's what they call me. Charming Charlie."

"Are these the same 'they' that you don't know what they say?" the man asked, but he kept his voice low.

"Well, Charlie, it's very nice to meet you," the angel said. He loved the way she said his name. Chaaaalie. With no r. "I'm Claire. And this is Dr. . .um. . .Dr. . ."

"Just call me Jack," the man said, and extended his hand. Charlie reached out and vigorously pumped the other man's hand, ignoring the pained expression on his face.

"Who'd have thought we'd make friends in a layover?" Charlie asked happily. Jack just rolled his eyes.


	5. Ana Lucia

"I hate planes," Ana-Lucia hissed, finally letting go of a little of the fright. She fought to unwind painted nails, dug deep into her hands. "I hate them, I hate them, I fucking hate them." She sighed. Unclech, Ana, unclench. She also hated tears, but she could feel them welling up in her eyes, long unshed tears. Of fright, pain, loss. . .no. Fight it, fight it, always have to fight it.

"It's okay now," a deep voice said. She turned to face the massive Nigerian man who had been sitting just across the aisle from her. He looked at her with a calm patience, and held out a small, travel-sized pack of Kleenex. For some reason the idea of the massive man clutching a tiny packet of cloth that was more in keeping with a mother's back pocket set her off into short giggles, which quickly deteriorated into sobs. She clutches desperately at the tissues, and then blew her nose as loudly as possibly.

"That's a powerful instrument you got there," an elderly black man said with as mile. Ana-Lucia managed a smile back at him, took a long, shaky breath, and decided that she was done with her fear.

"Lots of brothers," she said by way of explanation. The man nodded his head slightly before wandering off, blue eyes obviously scanning the crowds for a sight of someone.

"Will you be okay?" the man asked. Ana nodded her head.

"Yeah. Don't know what got into me. I've just always had this fear of planes. Stupid, really," she shrugged, pushed dark bangs out of her face, and reached out her hand. His engulfed hers in a strong handshake. She smiled a little at that, and squeezed a bit harder. She was no limp wrist herself.

"I'm Ana-Lucia," she said.

"You may call me Mr. Eko," he said. He smiled, ivory and ebony. She smiled back.

"Do you think that you'll still be taking the plane when we continue on our way?" he asked her, seriously. She looked away for a moment. Did she really want to get into this? And with a complete stranger, nonetheless? Then she thought about it for a moment, looked back at him, and decided, what the hell.

"Just about the only way to get off this island," she said. "Besides, what I want, I get. And I want to get back to Los Angelas."

"Boyfriend?" he asked her.

"Home," she replied. When she looked up at him again, she was distracted by another figure just over his shoulder. "Look, Mr. Eko, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but I think I see someone I know."

"Go," Mr. Eko smiled. "We will see each other again."

She knew that what he said made sense. After all, they'd probably be given just about the same seats on their next flight. Nonetheless, the way that he said the words, the weight that he gave them. Somehow it sounded a bit like destiny.

Shrugging off that deterministic line of thought, she stood and began threading her way through the crowd.


	6. Rose

Rose watched as her husband went raging off through the crowd, trying to find a pilot or flight attendent to explain exactly what was going on. She smiled slightly. That was just like Bernard. Always trying to find something to fix.

She winced at that thought, remembering the last thing he had wanted fixed. Namely, her. She closed her eyes for a moment, and felt it. That cancer, still inside of her, eating away at everything. Three months now, the doctor said. Maybe less. Maybe more. She opened her eyes again, and found the retreating back of her husband. She hoped that it was more.

"Hey," a large, heavyset young man sat beside her. Rose turned to him with a smile.

"Hey yourself," she said. The man's face beamed at her.

"Bad luck this, huh?" he said, jerking a thumb at the plane. Rose was a little disgusted to see the rivulets of sweat pouring off his face and drenching his shirt, but mostly she was just amused by his outgiong enthusiasm. "You wouldn't believe what I went through to get on the plane, and then this. Criminity."

"Sometimes things happen without a reason," Rose said.

"Sometimes they don't," a man in a wheelchair said. Rose turned to him.

"Now why do you have such a negative attitude?" she asked him. He looked away.

"I lost my destiny," he said.

"That's cool," the heavyset man said, clearly having no idea what was going on. "I lost my cat once. It's rough."

Surprisingly, the wheelchair man smiled. "Yes," he said. "I suppose it would be." Abruptly, he stuck out a hand. "I'm John," he said, shaking first the heavy set man's hand, and then Rose's own.

"Hurley," the heavy set man said. "I mean, that's just a nickname, but we're not going into that."

Rose laughed a little. "My name's Rose," she told them.

"So, does anybody know what's going on here?" John asked. "How long before they find us another plane?"

Rose shrugged her shoulders. "My husband is going to look," she said.

"Cool," Hurley said. The three lapsed into silence. Hurley reached down into a knapsack lying at his feet. He grabbed a chocolate bar out of it, looked at it, almost sadly for a moment, and then unwrapped and ate it.

Rose smiled, and turned her attention to the rest of the passengers in the lobby. She loved to watch people. To just sit and see what everybody was doing throughout the world. Most people were distressed, a few were calm. A pair of children were running throughout the crowd playing catch. A few were crying. Some were flirting. Some were making phone calls. And a few, most especially a long-haired young man (badly in need of a haircut, in Rose's opinion) and a pretty blonde woman just looked incredibly annoyed.

But what most amazed Rose was the way that people were connecting. All of these strangers, all on one plane, would never have met normally. But a simple layover was enough to bring together lives. She looked over at Hurley, sitting on her left, gently took his hand, and gave it a squeeze. He looked back at her in surprise, smiled, and threw away what was left of his candy bar.


	7. Kate

Her biggest fear was being contained. She couldn't stand having the cuffs on her wrist, and couldn't stand the idea of being locked up inside a jail cell, day after day, month after month, year after year. She could handle the idea of being punished. She deserved that much. She'd been punishing herself for the last few months. The last year and a half. Had it really been that long?

Kate sighed and closed her eyes. She didn't know how to manage the fear that was coursing through her body. Now this layover just delayed the inevitable. She kept trying to remind herself that it was impossible to escape again. She had been caught, and this time there were no shady bank robbers, no peroxide-dyed hair, and no Australian farmers to help her.

It didn't make things easier that people wouldn't leave her alone. The Marshal kept looking over at her, smiling, and saying in that sick way "how's it going, Katie?" But recently he had closed his eyes. She hoped that he was sleeping, but doubted it.

"Hello," a young man said. Kate looked up to see the fidgety man from the plane. She smiled a bit.

"Hi," she said.

"American?" the man asked. Kate nodded. As if that were difficult to ascertain—most of the passengers on the L.A. bound flight were Americans. The young man didn't seem to mind, though, and began babbling away. Kate stared at him, hoping that she didn't look too blank.

Just as she was beginning to wonder if the man ever had to catch breath, the body next to her stirred, and the dirty looking man woke up. Kate tried to inch a little further away from him. He simply oozed of sex, booze, cigarettes, and danger. While she'd had plenty of experience with the last one, she still feared the man. If only a little.

"Hey, Alvin, why don't ya shut up?" he drawled. Kate sighed. A southern accent. What would be more fitting for what clearly looked to be trailer trash. The man smiled, and Kate's heart missed a beat. Dangerous he might be, dirty certainly, but he had a pair of dimples to die for. She focused herself a moment, reminding herself of Tom. As if the scumbag next to her had anything in common with Tom. "I doubt the lady much cares what you're talking about. Ain't I right, Freckles?"

Freckles? _Freckles? _Kate stared at the man in amazement. She'd never known anybody who could be so curt and cruel, but on top of it, _Freckles_? She didn't really have that many freckles, did she? Feeling self-conscious, she bit back the desire to raise her hands to her face. That would be a fine situation now, wouldn't it, to raise them from beneath the concealment of the coat and show the cuffs to everyone in the room. The layover, she decided, would become infinitely more uncomfortable after that.

The fidgety young man began babbling something about leaving, when he abruptly stuck his hand out and said "Charlie." Kate stared at the proferred hand. She could feel the cold, heavy weight of the manacles around her wrist. She couldn't stand the idea of the isolation of a prison cell. She didn't want to start that any sooner than she could. She didn't want. . .

"Kate," she said finally, smiling and hoping that would take the bite out of her refusal to shake hands. It must have worked, to a certain extent, anyway, because the man bobbed his head and walked off. The scum beside her snorted.

"Real polite there, Freckles," he said. "When a feller gives you his hand, there's a number of things to do with it. Ignore it ain't one."

"I didn't see you shaking his hand," Kate said lowly. She refused to look at him. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. And, to admit the truth, if only to herself, she wasn't sure she could stand the dimples again.

"He didn't want to make friends with me," the man said. He leaned back in the uncomfortable airline chair, locked his hands behind his head, and turned to look at Kate. She could feel his gaze boring into the side of her neck. She wouldn't turn around. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction. She wouldn't.

"Tell me, Freckles. What's the real reason you wouldn't shake Mr. Has-Beens hand?"

Kate didn't answer. Maybe if she ignored him, he would go away, he would leave her alone. He was silent for a long moment, and she began to think she might be right. But then he broke it, leaning in close to her, so she could feel his breath against her cheek.

"Would you shake mine?"

Her fingers itched to slap him, to force him away from her body. Which, she realized with a sinking feeling, was exactly what she wanted. Desperate, she turned to look at the Marshal, to see if maybe he, of all people, could be her salvation. He was still feigning sleep, though a small smile splayed across his features. _Bastard_, Kate thought.

"Or maybe," the scumbag was still talking, "you have something more important that your hands are engaged in."

That insinuation was too much for Kate. She snapped. Whirling around, she jabbed her elbow hard into his side, and cracked her head against his own. With a slight yowl, he fell back into his seat, and clapped a hand to his forehead. Throughout the terminal, passengers turned to stare at the two. Kate could feel her face go red, and she tried to sink into obscurity. The man, however, didn't even seem to notice.

"Damn," he drawled, and slowly took his hand away. The smile disappeared from his face, and he stared at Kate with an intense look in his eyes. "Didn't know you liked to play dirty," he said. Kate didn't respond. "Don't worry, Freckles, I've known girls like you before."

"No girl is like me," she muttered under her breath. Didn't the cuffs on her wrists prove that? The man looked like he was about to respond when a shadow fell over the two. Looking up, Kate found herself looking into the face of salvation.


	8. Sun

**_Thanks to everyone for the positive reviews! You give me motivation to keep going, seriously! Feel free to tell me ideas for the future plotline, stuff you'd like to see, etc. I have a broad outline set up, but who knows where it could end up! Thanks again!_**

* * *

Sun couldn't help but wonder if maybe it was a sign. Maybe she shouldn't have gotten on the plane with her husband, maybe she shouldn't have accepted that flower as a symbol of love. Maybe, sometimes, a flower was just a flower.

She looked beside her, at the stony mask of her husband. No sign of emotion glittered in the depths of his eyes, no smile or fear twisted his lips. He was a wall. She sighed, and wrapped her arms around her body. He was always so closed in. . .

But, as per usual, the minute that she began to wonder if the Jin that she loved and cherished was still living, he noticed her gesture, and turned to smile at her.

"Are you cold?" he asked. She didn't respond. She couldn't. Every little sign of kindness that he paid her touched her to her core. That scared her. He wrapped one long arm around her shoulders, and drew him close to his side.

He must be so confused, she realized. All of the instructions they'd been given had been in English and Spanish. No words of Korean for her husband to understand. And she couldn't help him. She couldn't help him because she couldn't let him know her secret. Not when she still wasn't sure if she was going to stay.

"Don't worry, love," he reassured her. "I'm sure they just had a fuel problem. They'll have us on another plane any time now."

She wanted to tell him. She wanted so badly to tell him what the pilot had said, why they had landed in Fiji. But at the same time, she wanted to escape, and wanted freedom.

A voice came over the intercom, crackling, English.

"Our deepest apologies to the patrons of Oceanic Flight 185. We are working on booking another plane, as the one you were all aboard has sustained extensive damage. We not yet certain how long that commissioning will take. Thank you for your patience."

Jin looked up toward the ceiling, as though locating the intercom would somehow help him to understand the foreign words they were hearing.

"I hope that wasn't important," he said with a touch of worry. Sun looked around at the other passengers.

"Nobody is moving," she said. "I'm sure that it was just an apology."

Jin nodded his head, and abruptly dropped his arm from around her shoulder, standing up, the mask closing over his features once more.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"I'm going to try and find out what is going on," he said. "Somebody in this airport must speak Korean."

Sun nodded, swallowing hard. Now. . .now would be the time to tell him. . .

But she didn't. She just watched his tall, broad shoulders retreat toward the front desk.


	9. Sayid

Sayid was having a bad day. In all reality, he'd been having a bad month, but this particular day was a milestone in a thirty day period of misery. As if finding out that a very special friend was still alive, becoming a spy for the Americans, seeing his best friend blow his brains out, and then getting stuck in coach weren't enough, he'd also been called a terrorist from some American smartass, forgotten a tie, and been arrested by airport security. Then, to top it all off, the plane had been derailed (or perhaps deaired) and he was now stuck sitting in an airport in Fiji.

It was times like these that he had to wonder if he was being punished for all of his past misdeeds.

He stood up from the chair he had been sitting in, and looked dubiously at his carryon. He studied it intensely for a moment, then shifted his gaze to the restroom sign. Back to the bag. Did he really dare leaving it behind this time? Could he trust one of the Americans to watch it?

He looked throughout the crowd, not relishing the idea of taking his computer into one of the filthy airport bathrooms. But he certainly wasn't going to risk having a blonde bimbo turn him in again. He finally found a responsible looking Korean woman, and went over to her.

"Hello," he said. The woman looked up at him, smiled, and waved. "Could I ask you to do a favor for me?" he asked. The woman looked around nervously. Sayid followed the direction of her eyes. What could she be looking for?

"Y-yes," the woman stammered a little. Sayid smiled, relaxed, and gestured with his free hand toward his bag.

"Could you watch this for me for a moment while I use the facilities?" he asked. The woman smiled a little, and nodded her head, two quick bursts, her eyes still anxiously scanning the room.

"Thank you," he said, dropping the bag near the feet of the anxious woman and heading through the crowd.

The terminal was busier than any normal one, with people frantically trying to call loved ones, and to find out about the delay. When Sayid finally reached the men's room, he faced a line reaching all the way out the door.

"I thought this only happened to women," he muttered under his breath. Looking disdainfully, at the line, he elected to wait a little bit for it to go down. He headed back into the main loading area to recover his bag.

"Shannon, just use the inhaler," a young man was saying, bending over a clearly sick woman. Sayid inched toward, them concerned. The woman had her head between her knees, her entire body spasming as she struggled to breathe. The Iraqi frowned, thinking that she might require a doctor.

"Is everything all right here?" he asked. The man looked up, and smiled a little.

"My sister has asthma," he said. Sayid paused for a moment, trying to figure out what that statement had to do with anything. The man sighed, and continued "She'll be fine, she has an inhaler."

At that statement the girl began to mumble. At first Sayid thought she might be dry-retching, but when it abruptly cut off, he realized that it must have been an attempt at speech. He leaned down to hear her better and said

"Pardon?"

"I said," the girl said, pulling her head angrily up from between her knees. Sayid suddenly found himself staring into a familiar pair of hazel eyes, framed by a familiar head of blonde hair. It was her, the bitch from the airport earlier who had turned him in.

"You," he gasped.

"I think I'll take that inhaler now," she said. The man mutely handed it over, and she took two long drags on it, never taking her eyes off of Sayid.

"Why did you do it?" he asked her.

"Do what?" asked the young man. Sayid and the woman ignored him. Clearly irritated, he said again "do what?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just. . .you know, whatever."

Sayid stiffened. "I was taken into custody," he said. "I nearly missed the plane. I believe that you at least owe me an apology."

"Yeah, of course I owe you," the girl straightened up, her face flushed, looking angry and hurt. "All I ever do is owe people. Just ask Boone here. Ask how much I owe him. Stupid little Shannon Rutherford, always owing, never giving. I'm a bitch. So what? At least I know how to get what I want!"

Following this little monologue, she stomped off. Sayid and the other man stared at her for a long moment as she pushed her way through the line outside the women's restroom and made her way in.

"Sorry about my sister," Boone said. "She's just. . ."

"Spoiled?" Sayid suggested. Boone laughed a little.

"Yeah, well. . .if you give her a chance, she's not all bad. She's just had a tough life, you know?" Sayid refused to agree. He knew what it meant to have a tough life, and he doubted very much that the young American had faced any real tragedy. The young man shrugged his shoulders, and stuck out a hand. "Anyway, I'm Boone Carlisle."

"Sayid Jarrah," Sayid replied, shaking the boy's hand.


	10. The Doctor

Jack hung up the phone angrily. He'd known that his mother would be upset. Anything got her upset these days, and dealing with the quick funeral and everything had done nothing to calm her nerves. Nevertheless. It wasn't as though he enjoyed being stuck in an airport terminal. He'd rather be home, slipping into a pair of scrubs, or just sitting at home with a Guinness.

He stuck his hands deeper into his pockets and continued his pacing. If only there were something he could _do_, some way that he could fix this. But really, there was nothing. The mechanics were working on the plane. He couldn't help with that. He could barely tell a spark plug from a. . .well, whatever else started up an engine.

Glancing back at Claire, Jack was a little cheered to see her amiably chatting with Charlie. At least everybody wasn't as miserable as he. Although the girl certainly deserved to be, in her condition. He still couldn't believe that any doctor would have let the girl on a plane. He shook his head in amazement.

Suddenly, a commotion near the fringes of the gate caught his attention. An attractive young woman was trying to inch away from a thuggish man. He, however, continued to lean further over the armrest of his seat. The girl was clearly uncomfortable, which in turn made Jack feel a little out of place. He began walking over, to see if he could offer his assistance. But, as he watched in amazement, the girls' stony facade cracked, and just for a moment he saw fear and anger, before she elbowed and headbutted the asshole. Jack was close enough to hear the man holler in pain, and mutter something, though he couldn't make out the words clearly. The girl said something as well, low. The man looked like he was about to respond when Jack finally arrived.

"Hi," he said, directing his words to the girl. She looked up at him, and his heart disappeared. It just abruptly evaporated at the sight of her green eyes, and slight, shy smile.

"Hello to you, too, bub," the thug said. Jack ignored him, and hunkered down beside the girl.

"Is everything okay here?" he asked.

"Yeah," the girl smiled, and glanced over at the idiot beside her. "Nothing I can't handle, anyway."

"Hey, Freckles," the man said, amiably enough, despite the red mark still on his forehead from her attack. "You know I'd love to have you handle me any time." Jack sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I do have a name, you know," the girl said pointedly. Jack was still trying to catch his breath. He was grateful for their quick repartee, though the sexual innuendos were somewhat against his usual character.

"Right, Kate," the man said, and reclined a little. "I ain't stupid, sugar."

"And I'm Jack," the doctor said, suddenly getting his wind back. He needed to say something, needed to get those green eyes back on him. And back they turned again, lighting up, the smile widening even more.

"It's very nice to meet you, Jack," she said.

"Nice to meet you as well, Kate."

"Well if this ain't all sugar and sweet," the man muttered. "Don't inquire as to my name, why bother?"

Jack sighed, and extended a hand to the woman. "Listen, why don't you and I go get a drink, get away from this asshole."

For some reason that idea seemed to terrify Kate, and she shrank away from his offered hand. "Thanks, but I'm comfortable here," she said. The man on her left, the one Jack had thought was sleeping, suddenly snorted. Kate paled a little more. Jack suddenly felt the desire to take care of her, to wrap her up in warm blankets, feed her chicken noodle soup, and kiss away any booboos.

The man smirked. "Freckles here's got something against human contact," he said. "I'm beginning to wonder if she's got hands at all."

Kate laughed a little. Jack couldn't figure out why. The guy was a complete hick, how could she find any of his insults amusing?

"I have hands, cowboy," she said. And then, with one eyebrow quizzically lifted, as though really curious, she turned to him and said, "what if your name, anyway?"

"Nice of you to finally asked," he said. He stuck his hands behind his head and leaned back, not even going to attempt to shake her hand. "Sawyer."

"Sawyer?" Jack laughed a little. The man glared at him. "You got a first name, Sawyer? Or a last?"

"Just Sawyer," the man growled, and straightened up. Jack suddenly found himself staring in the face of a very dangerous man. This was no petty schoolyard bully, he realized with a sinking feeling. This was the kind of guy who pulled guns and shot. He reached out a hand to Kate again, wondering if she was seeing the same monster. When he turned to look at her, he saw that she was staring at Sawyer with a kind of open-mouthed horror. Jack felt a slight bit of satisfaction at that.

"You sure you wouldn't like to join me?" Jack asked. Kate shook her head, looking regretful.

"No. But thank you," she said, and then whispered "it means a lot."

Jack held her gaze for a moment. Her eyes held a thousand secrets, he realized. He couldn't help wonder if maybe, just maybe he might have the key. But then the man next to her suddenly jerked, and Kate spun to stare at him, brown hair whipping out everywhere, and the moment was broken. He stood up to his full height again, and nodded his head at the two strangers, reminding himself that she was just that, a stranger. He didn't feel this way toward her. . .she didn't remind him of Sarah. . .

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you later, Kate," he said, and then, unable to be that completely rude, he nodded his head to the other man as well, saying "Sawyer."

"Jackass," the man replied, once again in that charming tone. Jack forced himself not to leap at the man's throat. Kate suddenly began clearing her throat. Jack couldn't help but smile a little. He had been right. . .she had needed that drink, and for more reasons than one.

"Excuse me?" A voice said from behind him. Jack's smile ran away, turned to a confused frown. That was such a familiar voice. . .he turned around, only to see her again, the girl from the bar.

"Hey," she said, smiling a little shyly.

"Hey," Jack replied. "Tequila and tonic."

"Got my number," she said smiling. "Told you I hate planes."

Jack laughed a little at that, unable to resist. But, much as he wanted to forget the mysterious girl with the green eyes and walk off with the new girl, he couldn't quite put her out of his mind. And then, unbidden, the vision of his father in freshly pressed clothing, lying in a coffin, and suddenly neither of them mattered, this wasn't what he needed to be doing. . .

"Listen," he said, directing his words to everyone. "I'll be back in a minute. I just want to check on Claire, the pregnant girl, okay?"

"Why, you some kinda pervert?" Sawyer asked. Kate elbowed him again. Jack winced a bit at the easy familiarity they were already establishing, but took some solace in the fact that she was still looking at him. Strangers, he reminded himself. Strangers and secrets.

"I'm a doctor," he said, and turned to walk away.

"Figures," he heard the redneck say behind him. Jack smiled.


	11. Michael

Michael didn't really know what to say to the boy. The kid seemed happier to just sit there thumbing away at that stupid game that getting to know his father. Michael sighed and looked back out the window toward the plane. No sign that it was getting ready to go.

He couldn't blame his son, really. Nine years old, and barely knew his dad. He wouldn't have been thrilled if he were in the kids position. He wasn't really thrilled at the position he _was_ in.

It was weird, really, he reflected. He'd spent so many years arguing, fighting to keep him. And then. . .then it eventually happened and it was all so wrong. He wasn't ready, the kid wasn't ready, his mom hadn't even given him the letters. . .

Michael clenched his jaw, willing the anger to go away. Hey, it was his fault, too, right? And now he had to make the best of an impossible situation, right? Well, he could at least try.

Reaching, out a hand, he attempted to ruffle his son's hair. Of course, Walt barely _had_ any hair, so the effect was somewhat ruined. Still, Michael figured that at least it had been an affectionate gesture.

"What?" Walk asked, clearly sounded annoyed. He didn't even turn to look at his father. Michael sighed.

"Nothing," he said. "You excited to see America?"

"Nope."

"See where your dad lives?"

"I don't care."

Michael searched his head for something the kid might be looking forward to. "Vincent will be getting out of his cage?"

"He's probably so scared right now." The mention of his dog was enough to cause the boy to raise his head, and actually look his father in the eye. Michael was startled for a moment, and knew that he didn't respond as quickly as he should have.

"Wha-no, no, he's okay," he said finally. "Dogs love to fly."

"I'm not stupid," Walt said shortly, and went back to his game. Michael sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back against the uncomfortable airline seat. Botched that one, Mike, he thought angrily at himself. Man. But at least he was _trying_. Couldn't the kid try?

"Hey there," an older man in a wheelchair, said, wheeling up beside them. "Listen. I don't like to ask for help, but I need some."

"Yeah, sure man," Michael said. "What can I do?"

He knew what it was like to be in a chair. After the accident. . .but he couldn't think about the accident without thinking about Walt, about what it could have been. Instead he had a surly kid next to him who hated him. Absolutely hated him. And he had to let him. It was that or deprive him of the childhood he'd had.

"I've got some medicine in the back of my chair," the man said, trying to twist around. "I just can't seem to. . .to reach. . .it. . ." he grunted with the effort, before giving up and sitting up straight again, looking as calm as earlier.

"Yeah, no problem," Mike said. Thrusting his hand in the small bag attached to the back of the chair, he rummaged around for a bottle of pills. He could see the pained look on the guy's face. Man, he thought. This guy must hate being helpless way more than I ever did.

"Thank you," he said, when Michael handed him the medicine. He began to wheel away, when Michael, desperate for any human contact other than the endless beeping of the game next to him, yelled out,

"Welcome. Name's Mike, by the way."

The man in the chair paused for a moment, wheeling a slight inch before coming to a full thought. He twisted in the chair, and nodded back. "John," he said. Walt looked up for a moment, and Michael harbored some hope that the kid might actually show interest in something, but that was quickly dashed when he returned to his game.

Well, he had to do something, or he was going to go insane. Reaching into his back pocket, Mike grabbed his sketchpad and pulled it out. A quick grab for a pencil from his bag, and he was set to go.

He had only sketched out a few basic lines when he felt shifting in the seat next to him.

"What you doing?" Walt asked, craning his neck to see better. Barely even thinking about it, too absorbed in his art to pay attention to his actions, Michael tilted the paper so his son could see.

"Just sketching," he said. "I like to draw sometimes."

"Oh," Walt said, and returned to his game, while Michael continued to sketch the penguin. A moment or two later, he said "It's pretty good."

"Thanks," Michael said.

The two continued to sit in silence, but somehow it was better, if only a little.


	12. Claire

**_Poor Claire was getting ignored. Anyway, keep reading, I love the feedback. If anybody is yearning for a certain character to leap forward and grab a chapter, let me know. Otherse, enjoy!_**

Claire caressed her belly, feeling for that familiar kick, the little bit of movement, the fullness that reminded her that her baby was there, waiting, ready to come out and visit any moment.

She was glad that she had stuck to her original decision. There was no way she could give the baby the life it deserved.

"So, do you know what it is?" The man next to her (Charlie, she had to remind herself. Why was she so bad with names?) asked.

"Hmm?" she looked down at her protruding belly, drawing little designs across it with her index finger. "No, not really. But I think. . .I think it might be a boy."

"A boy, wow, that's great!" Charlie's face split in a great smile. Claire noticed in amusement that when he smiled, the ends of his mouth nearly disappeared into his (too) big ears. "What's his name?"

"Oh, I haven't named him," Claire said. She was beginning to feel a little bit uncomfortable. He was a total stranger, after all, and she didn't want to get into everything with him. About Thomas, and the baby, and the psychic, and then the new family. . .No, there was no reason to tell him. She just hoped that he would stop asking questions.

Luckily, he did. "So, do you like music?" he asked. Claire nodded her head.

"Oh, totally. I was practically brought up on Stravinsky and Mozart."

"What about more modern stuff?" he asked, looking a little downcast.

"Oh, sure, they're good, too," Claire thought for a moment, biting her lower lip. "I like a lot of local bands."

"Ever heard of Driveshaft?" he asked, glancing up at her from beneath his eyelashes. She almost laughed at the comical picture he painted, but she tried very hard to be serious, since she could tell it was so important to him.

"No," she said. "No, I don't think so. What kind of music do they play?"

He shrugged his shoulders, and smiled, as though reprimanding himself for something. "Nothing, really," he said. "It's not important. So. . .how far along are you?"

"Eight months," she said.

He nodded his head, a little anxiously. His fingers began to do a small dance on his thighs, and his eyes kept darting away from her. Claire herself started scanning the crowds, looking for the doctor (Jack? Zack? One of the two?), only not for herself, but for the nervous man beside her. He was looking a bit pale, she noticed. And maybe a bit sweaty, as well.

Just as she was getting ready to suggest to the man that he should see the doctor himself, Zack's head (she was pretty sure it was Zack, anyway) appeared through the mill of people. He waved at her, smiled, and continued on his way.

"Well, there's the doctor," Charlie said. "I've got to go to the loo. That's where I was headed when I met you. Which was nice. Meeting you, I mean," he shrugged his shoulders as she laughed, realizing that he had made an utter mess of his leavetaking. "Right. It was nice meeting you, Claire."

"You, too, Charlie," she said, solemnly shaking his head, although she couldn't keep the smile off her face. Had he been staying with her, just to make sure there was somebody there? She had to admit, she was touched.

"Hey, Claire," Jack said, sitting beside her. She was about to respond with his name as well, and then decided it might not be a good idea. He didn't seem like the kind of guy who wouldn't mind her forgetting his name. It might even hurt his feelings.

"Hi," she said, and then rolled her eyes, laughing a little good-naturedly. "You don't have to keep checking up on me, you know. The baby's not due for a month.'

"I know," Jack/Zack smiled back. "But plane rides can be stressful on the healthiest of people."

"Well, that's me, the healthiest of people," she said, still laughing. "Really, I'm fine. I think, in fact, I just might take a nap." And with those words, she dramatically tilted her head back and closed her eyes.

"Okay, I can take a hint," Zack said, patting her on the shoulder and standing up. "No smothering, got it."

"Thank you!" Claire sang out as he began to walk away. She grinned, opened her eyes, and resumed her people-watching. Really, there was nothing better than watching the dramas of an airport full of people.


	13. Boone

Boone felt embarrassed. It was a pretty normal emotion for him, these days, at least whenever he had to be around Shannon. He didn't know how it was that he managed to always get stuck around her.

Oh, that was right, it was because he was in love with her.

Sometimes it worked out all right, he decided. Like today when, after having gone through another inhaler ordeal, he had finally found someone in the terminal worth talking to.

"So you fought in the Gulf War?" Boone said. "That's crazy. My dad fought in that."

"Well," Sayid said with a smile. "I am relatively certain that your father would have fought for the other side."

"Good point," Boone smiled. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He really wished that he had some kind of magical secretary following him around, keeping him from saying stupid things. Unfortunately, that never seemed to work.

"And you?" Sayid asked. "What is it that you do?"

"I'm a CEO," Boone said. The other man looked suitably impressed. Shannon snorted in disdain.

"He works for his mom," she said. Boone rolled his eyes before turning to his stepsister.

"Oh, and why don't you tell the man exactly what you do for a living, princess?" he said. Now it was Shannon's turn to roll her eyes. She turned away from both of them, and began playing with her cell phone.

"I sense that you two do not have the easiest relationship," Sayid said. Boone turned to look at him, trying to convey the idea of "oh, you think" with one raised eyebrow and slightly tilted lips. Sayid laughed. "I also think that I can understand why that is."

"So," Boone said, breaking the silence that had built up. "How long do you think they'll be keeping us here?"

"Well," Sayid paused thoughtfully. "Based on my experience with layovers, I would assume only a few hours."

As if in response to the man's words, the intercom suddenly buzzed into life.

"Attention passengers of Oceanic Flight 815. We regret to inform you that damage to the plane was more extensive than originally believed. Unfortunately, we will not be able to achieve flight until sometime tomorrow morning. Rooms have been procured for all passengers at a nearby hotel. If all passengers could join up into groups of two, four, and six, we will gladly accomodate you. We thank you for your patience, and apologize once again. Thank you for flying Oceanic."

"Then again," Sayid said wryly. "I could be wrong."

Boone sighed. He looked back at Shannon. "I'd better go call my mom," he said. "Otherwise she'll be worried, and have half the police force in Los Angelos out looking for me."

"I'll watch your bag," Sayid said. Boone was pretty sure that he heard another noise coming from his sister's mostly comatose body, but it was difficult to tell in the noise of the airport terminal.

He walked away, debating whether to try a cell phone or just use a pay phone. It was Fiji, he reminded himself. Not exactly known for spectacular coverage.

Pay phone it was, then. He dug around in his pockets, trying to find some coins. Which, he realized upon sitting before a pay phone, didn't work anyway, because his money was all American. "Dammit," he said.

"Wrong coins?" a man asked from the next booth. Boone nodded. Moment of embarrassment number two in the day. He was on a roll.

"Here," the man said, handing him over a series of quarters. "These'll work."

"Thanks," Boone said, gratefully accepting the money. The man shrugged.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I had the same problem, had to walk all over the damn airport to find someone who spoke English and could exchange my money. Just make sure you don't waste it."

Boone nodded, and ducked back into his booth. He quickly shoved three quarters into the machine, considered for a moment, and then put in another one. After twenty-odd years, he knew how his mother could be.

"Sabrina Rutherford," the clear, precise voice said after two rings. Boone nodded. Just like his mother, not to mess around when answering the phone.

"Hey, mom, it's me," Boone said. He could almost see her smile when she answered,

"Ah, the prodigal son, checking up. Where did she drag you this time?"

"Well, we're in Fiji," he said, glancing around. He could hear the disapproval in his mother's voice. It was the only time she ever got angry at him; when it involved Shannon. And, of course, she was the one thing that he couldn't resist.

"What the hell are you doing in Fiji? Never mind, I don't want to know. When will you be back?"

"Well, Mom, that's kind of the problem," Boone said. "The plane was more messed up than they thought, so we're going to have to spend the night, and take a flight out in the morning."

Silence for a moment, followed by a famous Sabrina-tirade. Clipped, cold, and brisk.

"Those bastards don't know how to manage anything," she said. "We'll see if Oceanic ever gets any of my business again. And whether that bitch gets any more money off of me."

"Mom, you didn't give her any money to begin with," Boone protested.

"Fine. Call me when you get back."

And. . .a dial tone. Frustrated, Boone slammed the phone back down. The man from one booth down peeked his head out curiously.

"Bad news?" he asked.

"Just a mother."

The other man laughed. "Yeah, I've got one of those, too."

"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," Boone said. "I'm Boone."

The other man brought out his left hand, while his right continued to clutch the phone receiver. "I'm Nathan," he said.

"Do you have a group to spend the night with?" Boone asked. Nathan sighed and shook his head.

"Nope, flying solo."

"Well, we've got three people," Boone said. "So if you don't mind sharing with me, a stuck-up, spoiled princess, and a former Iraqi soldier, I think we could squeeze you in."

"Sounds like a great group," Nathan said with a smile. "Pencil me in."


	14. Edward

**_Thanks for the reviews, as usual!_**

**_Have no fear, more Jate will soon be upcoming. And no, I don't hate Sawyer, he's actually my favorite character on the show. So the next perspective will be alllllllll Sawyer. But until then, enjoy a little of the Marshal!_**

* * *

Edward Mars loved his job. Really loved it. He especially loved watching hte fugitives squirm, itching to escape, wanting to run.

And, of course, the best moment of his job was catching a very certain Ms. Kate Austen. Little Katie really liked to run, and Ed was really happy to be the one to put a stop to it.

He was probably the only man in the entire terminal who was happy for the layover. Oh yes, he wanted the woman taken in, he wanted the glory. He wanted to see her on trial. But he really loved to see her stuck. And that's where she was right now. Sitting next to a man she _had _to despise—Ed even despised him, and he was known for enjoying despicable characters—and unable to so much as slap him thanks to the cuffs he had personally put on her wrists.

"So, sugar, what were you doing in Australia?" the other man asked.

"None of your business," Katie replied. The man chuckled a little. Ed kept his eyes shut. Oh yes, this was good.

"Now, now, Sassafras, no need to bite my head off," Sawyer said. "Just trying to make some friendly conversation."

"I was staying with a friend," Katie sighed, clearly giving in to the man. This time Ed couldn't stop the laugh from leaving his mouth. He still kept his eyes closed. Let them guess. He preferred to listen.

Some friend she'd been staying with. A friend who turned her in for $23,000. Then again, it was possible. Maybe the man hadn't done it for the money. Maybe he just just had a sense of justice, wanted to do the right thing.

Yeah, right.

He snorted again. This time there was a definite silence, and he could tell that Sawyer and Kate were both inspecting him fairly closely.

Oh, how he loved being in the spotlight.

"Who's your buddy there?"

"He's not my buddy," Katie said.

"Ah," Sawyer said. "I see. One of those."

"No," Kate said, becoming angry now. "Now one of those. Me. Only me. You don't know me!"

"Come on now, Freckles," Sawyer said softly, drawling the words slowly. "I do know you. For example, I know exactly what you've got under that coat there."

Katie froze next to him. Ed smirked. Oh, this was getting good. But just as he was waiting to see how his little fugitive would respond, the intercom crackled into life.

"Attention passengers of Oceanic Flight 815. We regret to inform you that damage to the plane was more extensive than originally believed. Unfortunately, we will not be able to achieve flight until sometime tomorrow morning. Rooms have been procured for all passengers at a nearby hotel. If all passengers could join up into groups of two, four, and six, we will gladly accomodate you. We thank you for your patience, and apologize once again. Thank you for flying Oceanic."

That was enough to make Ed open his eyes. Squirming was one thing, but he did not relish spending an evvening with little Katie Austen. She'd eluded him for years. He wasn't going to let her get away again. Which meant a very long, very sleepless night.

"Bastards," he hissed.

"Why, little sleeping beauty's waken up," Sawyer said, smiling. Ed turned his head, finally getting a good look at the man who had been amusing him for the last hour. Not bad-looking, he decided. Yeah, he'd do him.

"You been getting along all right, Katie?" he asked, tenderly running fingers through his captives' hair. She jerked away from the contact, and Sawyer looked at the two of them speculatively.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "I got a good idea what's under that jacket." Then, switching track, he turned his dimples on Katie. "So, Freckles, what do you say you and I shack up for the night? Have ourselves a little fun on Oceanic's payroll?"

"Sorry, cowboy," Ed said. "Girl's with me. Though if you'd like to join us. . ."

He left the invitation open. The smile stayed on Sawyer's face, and his eyes were a blatant threat. Ed didn't mind that. He liked threats.

"Would Mr. James Ford please come to the front desk. Mr. James Ford."

Sawyer glanced up for a moment, surprise written across his features. Well, well, Ed thought. Looks like the good ol' Southern boy has a secret or two.

But, rather than heading toward the front desk, Sawyer leaned back in the chair and stretched his long legs out. "Wonder what that guy's done to deserve the special treatment," he said nonchalantly. Ed grinned.

"Seeing as you're him, maybe you should go check it out," he said. Sawyer and Katie both turned to stare at him, Sawyer's face anger, Katie's shock. Ed's grin widened. Oh, he was enjoying this very much indeed.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sheriff," he growled. But, sure enough, a moment later he stood up, and muttered something about going to the bathroom before hurrying out.

"Looks like your boyfriend might be in as much trouble as you are," Ed grinned. This was nice. Just him and little Katie together again. She, as per usual, refused to look at him, but she could see her hands fiddling with something under the blanket.

It was going to be a very long night. He was just going to have to enjoy it as best he could.

He laughed again.


	15. Sawyer

Sawyer cursed as he left his seat. He glared back at the man. How had he known? How the hell had he known his secret?

Not that he didnt' know some secrets of his own. He knew very well that little miss Kate back there was hiding a pair of handcuffs under the coat. And he had the definite suspicion that the man with her was a US Marshal. He'd been with enough feds to recognize one when he saw one.

He smiled a little, thinking of Kate. She was a cute little thing. He'd like to help her. Too bad she'd clearly done herself in, somehow. And there was no way he was risking his neck to help her out. He was walking on thin ice as it was.

"You called?" he drawled. The woman behind the Oceanic counter was young, blonde, and pretty. Sawyer grinned. Here was something he could work with.

"Mr. Ford?" she asked, reaching down to rifle through papers even before he'd had the opportunity to respond.

"Yeah," he said. "you got a present for me?" She looked up at him for a moment, and he smiled. She blushed a little.

"Actually," she said, a regretful tone in her voice. "We have to opposite of a present for you. Your ticket was purchased by the government of Australia, correct?"

"Yeah."

"Well, they've elected not to purchase you a continuing flight."

"What the hell does that mean?" Sawyer asked. The woman sighed.

"It means that you won't have a seat on the departing flight to Los Angelos. Unless, that is, you would like to purchase one yourself. With this notice, and how booked this flight is, it will cost. . ." she looked down at the computer again, and quickly typed in a series of numbers. "$345."

"Dammit," Sawyer slammed a fist on the counter. The girl shook back, clearly frightened by his anger. Sawyer sighed, and closed his eyes. Had to get control of those emotions. He turned away from her for a moment, and ran his hands through his hair. He shook out his shoulders, and turned around to her again, a new smile plastered on his face.

"Sorry about that, doll," he said. "Can I get back to you?"

The girl nodded. "Certainly, sir."

He turned to walk away, but stopped when he heard the girl clearing her throat behind him.

"The one thing is, Mr. Ford, that until we know if you're purchasing that ticket, we won't be able to put you into a hotel room."

He turned around, 100 watts and two dimples. "Don't worry about that, sugar," he said. "I've never minded spending the night in a terminal."

He walked back toward his seat, a thousand thoughts running through his brain. He sure as _hell_ didn't have that kind of money on him. And after the. . .incident. . .with Frank Duckett, he didn't dare use an account. If the police were on that yet. . .if they traced it to him. . .

He sank into the seat. He had considered finding another one, but the terminal was overrun with kids and happy couples. He'd rather sit next to some kind of hot fugitive than some nursing mother.

Sawyer sank his head into his hands. Dammit! He hadn't meant to. . .it had all been a mistake. . .

"Are you okay?" Kate asked.

"Fine," he growled. She didn't say anything else, and he was glad. Last thing he needed was some woman getting in his head. He took a deep breath, one more, and reached into his back pocket. His fingers folded around the familiar letter. Yeah. He'd killed a man. Yeah, he'd been deported. And yeah, he'd go on.

He lifted his head, and turned to look at the woman. "Turns out," he said. "I ain't gonna be needing that hotel room, anyway. So you just enjoy it with Brokeback over there."

Kate smiled. She looked sad, he thought. Couldn't blame her. He wouldn't exactly be jumping for joy if he were stuck in her shoes. Or her cuffs.

"So, Freckles, what did you do to get yourself caught?" he asked, smiling slightly. She stiffened beside him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Talking 'bout them handcuffs you've got around your pretty little wrists," he said. He judged her with his shoulder.

"How?" she turned to look at him, her green eyes wide.

"Hell, sugar," he said, leaning in closer. "I've been in'em enough to know the signs."

She refused to answer him, turning to stare straight forward again. Sawyer chuckled. Fair enough. He had enough on his plate anyway.

Like whether to buy that ticket or not. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that it might not be the best idea. If the Aussies found out, they'd immediately contact the good old U.S.of A. So heading back to Tennessee might not be the greatest idea at the moment. He growled, low in his throat, ignoring the way Kate turned to look at him in surprise, and the Marshal with slitted eyes.

Well, a hell of a lot of people liked to travel around. Maybe it was time that he should try and figure out what was so great about the travel thing. And he'd heard that Europeans found an American accent sexy. There was good money to be made.

And with that, Sawyer decided. He wasn't going to scam some family out of money for a ticket home. He'd scam them for a ticket to Italy.


	16. Mr Eko

**_Sorry this took so long. I really, really wanted to do a Mr. Eko chapter, but that was kind of hard, since I had no idea why he was on the flight. And. . .I still don't really know why he was on the flight. But what the heck, the story had to go on, right? So, here you go, and hopefully updates will be a bit more consistent after this._**

Mr. Eko worked very hard at being inconspicuous. He knew that he failed at it; there were few men as large as he, even fewer from Nigeria, and even fewer who kept panicking every time that a blonde woman walked by.

"Hi, do you mind if I sit here?" Mr. Eko turned, and struggled very hard to maintain his placid demeanor. It was a blonde woman.

Two breaths later and he had restored his sense of complacity, since it was not _that_ blonde girl, but instead an older woman, one who had interrupted him back in Australia.

"Are you okay?" she asked him warily. "You seemed kind of upset back when we were boarding."

"I am fine," he said with a warm smile. "I had just received some unsettling news. I am sorry if my actions disturbed you in any way."

"No," she laughed, and glanced up at him from under drifting tendrils of hair. Almost impulsively, she stuck out a hand.

"I'm Libby," she said. His smile broadened, as he took her hand in his.

"Mr. Eko," he said in return.

"So, where are you from?" she asked. "I'm not all that great at naming accents, but I'm pretty sure that yours isn't from Australia."

"I am from Nigeria," he said, and when she quirked an eyebrow, continued "I am a priest."

"Oh," Libby said. "That's something. I'm a clinical psychiatrist. Not quite as exciting."

"Believe me," Mr. Eko said. "Being a priest is not so exciting as other jobs."

He thought, darkly, of his other work, the work that had gotten his brother killed, before pushing it from his mind. Those were bad days, that he was working very hard to find redemption.

"Hey there, again."

Mr. Eko looked up at the young, Latina woman he had been speaking with early. "Hello, Ana," he said. She inclined her head, and then looked questioningly at Libby, who stood up and extended a hand.

"Hi," she said. "Libby."

"Ana Lucia," the woman said in exchange. "So, this delay really bites, huh?"

"What will be, will be," Mr. Eko said. Libby smiled at Ana.

"He's a priest," she said, obviously believing that this explained his acceptance of the layover. Ana nodded her head and pursed her lips, digesting the information.

"So. . ." Libby said, attempting to break the awkward silence following her words. "Are you guys planning on taking the hotel rooms, or just staying in the terminal?"

Mr. Eko had to pause his thinking for a moment. He hadn't really considered how he would spend the night. He was accustomed to less-than perfect holdings. In Nigeria his room at the rectory had been little more than a closet. In Australia he'd had curtains.

"I had thought I would just stay here," he said. "I would not want to put the airline out."

"Don't be stupid," Ana-Lucia exclaimed. "Then it would be just Libby and I in a room!" Libby raised her eyebrows, and Mr. Eko did not blame her. How Ana had instantly been able to put them in a room was beyond him as well.

"I think that I am going to go to the bookshop," Mr. Eko said, standing up. "I would like very much to see whether they have any copies of the Koran."

"The Koran?" Ana Lucia looked accusingly at Libby. "You said he was a priest." Libby just shrugged her shoulders and look apologetically toward Mr. Eko, who waved if off as he headed over to the book section.

"Hello," he said to the young man he found already camped out in front of the fiction side of the book shelf.

"Hey yourself, Andre," the man replied. Mr. Eko frowned for a moment. How did the man know his name? And why did he have the wrong one? The man glanced up, and must have seen the puzzlement on his face, because he laughed. "Andre the Giant, bucko. Never mind, can tell you ain't up on your pop culture."

"I am very sorry," Mr. Eko said, before pointing at the book in the man's hands. "Robinson Crusoe. An excellent novel."

"Yeah," the other man shrugged. "Defoe knew his shit."

Mr. Eko continued to stand there, occassionally peering back worriedly at the women he'd left behind. The other man continued to watch him.

"You hiding from something, Andre?" the man asked. Mr. Eko shook his head.

"Those women over there," he gestured with his thumb, and the blond man looked. "Are quite possibly crazy."

"Well, they're women, amigo," the man snorted, and returned to reading his book. "Coulda told you that without even meeting them."

"Excuse me, sir," an oily looking young man walked over, and pointed at the book being lightly held by the blond man. "You're going to have to either buy that or put it down."

"Keep your damn book," the man said. Despite his words, he didn't seem particularly upset as he set the book back on the shelf and began walking away. He looked back over his shoulder to yell "nice meeting you, Andre" before promptly running into a bald man in a wheelchair.

"Holy fuckin' Jesus!" he yelped, rubbing at his knee. "Why don't you watch where you're driving that thing?" he growled at the man. "Damn. First a parked car, now a wheelchair. . ." he walked away, still grumbling to himself.

Mr. Eko and the bald man just looked at one another and laughed.


	17. Hurley

"Man," Hurley moaned. "My mom is going to kill me. . ."

"Hey, what's wrong?" A pretty young blonde girl asked, sitting down beside him. Hurley glanced at her out the side of his eye. She was really, really pretty. He hoped he wasn't blushing. He usually blushed when pretty girls were around.

"Well. . ." he said, fiddling with the CD player in his lap. "See, it's my mom's birthday. . .and I said I'd make it home. . .but now I'm stuck in this stupid airport!" Angrily, he threw the headphones at the ground. The girl chuckled a little.

"I'm sorry," she said, laying a hand on his forearm. Darn, Hurley thought. There it was. The familiar hot feeling in his face. He was blushing. The girl laughed. "I'd help you out, but I'm not as flexible as I used to be."

Hurley finally looked at up at her, and was more than a little surprised to find the one person on the plane who might just be bigger than him.

"Hey, dude!" he said, pointing at her stomach. "You're pregnant!"

The girl laughed again, and rubbed her stomach. "Yeah," she said. "I'd kind of noticed myself."

"Yeah," Hurley leaned down and grabbed his headphones, stuffing them hastily in the bag along with the CD player. He stuck his hand out, almost uncomfortably close to the girl. "I'm Hurley," he said. She smiled, a bright ray of sunshine, and shook her hand.

"I'm Claire," she said. Hurley grinned, probably stupidly, he though, and shook her hand. The girl laughed again.

"So. . ." Hurley said, trying to grasp for any conversation to keep the girl near him. "Do you know who you're going to stay with tonight?"

Claire considered for a moment, biting down on her lip. "Probably the doctor," she said finally. "Since I can't seem to shake him!"

Sure enough, Hurley looked up and a young man was walking over. He didn't really look like a doctor, though. Hurley frowned. He was wearing kind of grungy clothes. . .he liked the hairdo, though. Long and shaggy.

"Hey, Claire," the guy said, sitting down on her other side. Hurley looked away. The other guy was skinny. Of course she'd like him better.

"Charlie!" the girl giggled. "Hey, have you met Hurley, yet?"

"Hey man," Hurley waved a little. The man burst into a brilliant smile, and waved back. He pointed at the CD player still sticking out of a duffel bag.

"Hey, you like music?" the man asked.

"Yeah," Hurley shrugged. "I mean, you know, it's cool."

"Me, too!" The guy exclaimed. He almost flew off his seat, and ran over to sit next to Hurley. Claire seemed a little surprised, but still good-humored. "Hey, what do you like to listen to? Any favorite band?" Without asking, he grabbed the CD player and opened it up to see what was inside.

"Charlie, that's so rude!" Claire shouted. "Hurley, I'm so sorry. . ."

"No, it's cool, it's cool," he said. He stared at the small, hobbitlike man. He suddenly started to grin, his smile reaching from one oversized ear to the other.

"Smashing!" he said, holding up the CD. "You've got Driveshaft!"

"Oh, not them," Claire moaned.

"You don't like them?" Charlie asked, a disappointed look on his face.

"Well, the music's okay," Claire admitted, almost grudgingly. "It's the words I hate. I mean. . ." she glanced around, and then, an embarrassed look on her face, sang softly "you all everybody! You all everybody! Acting like them stupid people wearing expensive clothes," she sighed. "What does that mean, anyway?"

"Oh," Charlie shrugged, and put the CD back in the player. "Yeah, I guess I don't really know."

"Well, dudes, I think I"m gonna call my mom," Hurley said, standing up and trying to extricate himself from a very definitely _weird_ situation. "You guys need anything?

"I'm fine," Claire said. Charlie just nodded his head and said "yeah."

"Weird. . ." Hurley muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he walked away. Besides, he liked Driveshaft. It spoke to his soul.

Instead of heading to the pay phones, however, he veered off toward the ticket counter.

"Hey," he said to the woman standing behind it. She glanced up at him and smiled.

"Can I help you?" she asked. Her smile dropped a little as she glanced at the man who had walked up right behind Hurley. The big man turned around. Creepy, he though, staring at the tall, lanky blond-haired guy. Shrugging it off, he turned back to the ticket lady.

"Yeah, I was just wondering. . ." he shrugged, extremely uncomfortable. "I mean, it's my mom's birthday, and I really have to be there on time. . ."

"I'm sorry, sir," the woman said, actually seeming sympathetic. "But the earliest flight for L.A. is tomorrow at nine. You'll just have to wait."

"But, dude, isn't there anything else?" he asked. Then, inspiration struck. He reached down into the duffle, and pulled out several wads of money. "Look," he said. "Could I just, like, buy my own plane!"

The woman's eyes looked about ready to pop out of her head, but she managed to retain the phony smile and shake her head.

"I'm sorry, sir, the earliest flight is tomorrow."

"Okay, well, thanks anyway," Hurley grumbled, setting the money back in his duffel bag. As he was turning around, he found himself running straight into the creepy guy.

"Sorry, man," he said, and tried to dodge around, but the guy grabbed his arm.

"Hold on a minute there," the man drawled. Southern. Hurley sighed. He knew the type. They drove pickup trucks and liked to shoot things.

"What, man?"

"I think I might have an answer to your dilemma," the man glanced around. Hurley looked, too. He didn't see anything suspicious. . .just a bunch of disgruntled passengers waiting for a plane.

"I got a proposition for you," the man said, and smiled. Aw man, Hurley thought. He had dimples. He was tall, skinny, _and_ had dimples. Nothing like his own fat, freckled self.

The man began leading him down a hallway toward the unisex bathroom, and a light flipped on in Hurley's mind. The guy couldn't mean. . .not. . .

"Whoa, dude!" Hurley threw up his hands. "I'm not like that, man! I mean, I'm flattered, but. . ."

"Not that," the man growled, looking disgusted. He took a deep breath, and smoothed out the angry face into a more pleasant one. Hurley was very, very confused.

"Look, my name's Jim Ford," he said. "And I want to get home as quick as you do, son. And I think I might have a way to do it."

"But the lady said . . ."

"Yeah, well, the lady works for Oceanic," Mr. Ford said. He stared intently at Hurley. The dimples vanished. "She don't want us finding another way homoe that ain't on her plane, get it?"

"Yeah. . ." But Hurley didn't. Not really at all.

"There's another plane, takes off tonight at one," Mr. Ford said. "It heads up to Tokyo. Then there's a plane at two that heads straight to L.A. Get us in around five a.m. . .before this sucker's even taken off."

Hurley tried to compute those times. He knew there were time zone changes, but he couldn't quite figure out how it all worked. Mr. Ford seemed pretty sure, but it still didn't add up.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked. Mr. Ford laughed a little, and for once looked a little ashamed of himself.

"I ain't quite got enough to buy myself a ticket," he said. "And technically this ain't by the book. But I know the pretty girl workin' for TransAir, and she said she'd get me a ticket. But I'd need to borrow a little cash."

"A little?" Hurley asked. The man sighed.

"Enough for my ticket," Mr. Ford could probably see how upset Hurley was, because he hurried right on. "Look, just gimme $700, that's it, and I'll get us two tickets. Once we get to L.A., I'll refund this ticket for Oceanic, pay you back on the spot. What do you say?"

"I don't know. . ." Hurley was beginning to understand why they'd left the main lobby. "How do I know you aren't going to just run off with my money?"

"Where'd I go?" the man laughed. "We're in hell fuckin' Fiji, chico. Ain't nowhere to run to. I'm stuck in this airport, same as you. And I need to get to L.A., same as you."

"Yeah, I guess you have a point," Hurley considered for a moment. He still didn't trust the guy. He had shifty eyes. But at the same time he could just imagine his poor mom, sitting all alone, waiting for her little boy to come home. That was definitely the worse alternative.

"All right," he said, reaching down into his bag. "Here. $700. But you better not be scamming me, dude!"

"Don't worry," the man said, smiling smoothly. "Just meet me down here are one, and we'll be heading home!"

He quickly pocketed the money, and began hurrying down the terminal. Hurley just hoped he was hurrying toward the place to buy a ticket.


	18. Locke

Locke realized that he was probably the only man waiting for a shuttle that didn't mind the layover. A few families with young children were trying desperately to shush babies, and even most of the adults looked annoyed or pissed off. A handsome young man was trying to hold back tears as he spoke on a cell phone, while a young pregnant woman rubbed her belly anxiously. Beside those two stood the blond man who had pratically run him over when they'd been getting off the plane.

"It is a very strange assortment," Mr. Eko mentioned. Locke smiled a little at that.

"Yeah," he agreed. "It's black, white, and plenty of grey in between."

"I love airports," Libby said softly, a smile on her face. Ana rolled her eyes. "There are so many different people, all with so many emotions. You just have to wonder where everyone's going, and why."

"And why they're crazy enough to get on a plane in the first place," Ana snorted.

Locke didn't respond to their inane little chatter. He had to keep reminding himself to take deep breaths. He was on the plane because he didn't have another option. He was lost, completely and utterly lost.

"Is something troubling you?" Mr. Eko asked. Libby and Ana were still trading insults, meanwhile. Locke sighed, and continued to look straight ahead. Mr. Eko laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "I am a good man to talk to if you are disturbed. I am a priest."

"A priest, huh?" Locke laughed a little at that. "Never had much use for priests."

He wasn't like his foster mother. He didn't hate religion. He just thought that the organization of it was absurd. A deep spiritual connection couldn't be achieved through arcane rituals and silly traditions. Still. A priest. . .

"I want to kill a man," he said. Mr. Eko nodded.

"Ahh," he said, and then nothing more. Locke waited for another word, an offer of absolution, but nothing more was said. He didn't like the silence.

"My father," he said after a moment, hoping to elicit some type of response from the stone-faced priest. Eko turned to look at him; nothing more. "He put me in this wheelchair," Locke continued. "I used to be happy in my life. I used to be happy!"

He hadn't meant to yell, but emotion had gotten the best of him. Ana and Libby quit their bickering to look at him, as did several other passengers. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathed in and out four times, and then opened them again. He forced a smile onto his face, and turned to look at Eko, determined to maintain a seeming state of calm, although his insides were roiling.

"He ruined your life, so you wish to ruin his," Eko nodded. "Why are you telling me this?"

Locke shook his own head in response. A motor revved up down the street, and a moment later the shuttle appeared. Locke sat in his chair as the rest of the passengers boarded the bus. He wheeled forward at the last second, desperate not to be left behind.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the driver said, a look of chagrin on his face as he noticed Locke. "This bus isn't handicap accesible. I'll have to call for another shuttle."

Locke nodded. Calm, he thought to himself. Calm.

"I will wait with him," Eko said, stepping off the bus and going to stand beside the other man.

"All right," the driver nodded his head, still visibly upset by his inability to help. "I'm really sorry. There will be another bus in just a few minutes."

"That will be fine," Mr. Eko allowed a rare smile. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," Locke nodded his head, and forced another smile onto his face. "Thanks."

The doors on the bus shut and it rolled away. Locke forced himself to unclench a fist. It had been the second bus in as many days to roll away from him. If it weren't for the damn wheelchair. . .

He knew that he was meant for greater things. But how was he supposed to achieve any of them if he couldn't do something as simple as get onto a regular bus?

"Perhaps it is not your father that you are angered with," Mr. Eko suggested. Locke rolled his eyes.

"If not him, then who?" he asked.

"Perhaps you are more upset with yourself."

Locke didn't say anything after that. How could he, really, when the strange man had hit so close to the truth?

Maybe, he thought, this layover was not just a hitch in his plan toward life. Maybe it was a sign, a sort of destiny. Maybe the entire reason that the plane had suffered had been for this one moment.

"You're right," he said, just as a second bus was pulling up. "It's my life. I just have to figure out how to live it."

And the first step, he thought, would be to finally return those calls from the surgeon. Maybe they were right, and this paralysis was only temporary. Maybe it could be fought.

Maybe, he though, there was more to seizing destiny than waiting for the inevitable.


End file.
